Poems Never Die

by John Herlihy

The poet dies,

The poem still lives.

The world sighs,

The poem still gives.

Poems never die,

On readers they rely.

From mystery spun,

The reader has won.

The poet gives,

The reader lives.

The verses inspire,

With hearts on fire.

In the mind yearning,

In the heart burning.

Sitting on the page,

Lasting for an age.

To dwell forever,

To die never.

From mystery torn,

From imagination born.

The verses arise,

As nimble butterflies.

The rhythm as oars,

As the melody soars.

Heart in the wolf howl

As wisdom of the owl

Seen in the budding flower

Witnessed hour by hour

Their meaning to send,

Until poets meet their end.

Into ears and into sky,

Where poems never die.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Friday 15 August 2025